


Close Call

by Linspoppa



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: "It's not like I wanna protect you or anything!", As in platonic tsundere, Gen, Houseplant Flowey, Minor Sans/Toriel, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Tsundere Flowey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5383076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linspoppa/pseuds/Linspoppa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surface life is slowly driving Flowey mad. Despite the odds, Frisk made good on their promise to save monsterkind and help evacuate the underworld. This doesn't mean Flowey owes Frisk any gratitude. There's still a smiley trashbag who needs to be taken care of...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Call

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Pacifist overworld fanworks are golden, but it pains me that saving Flowey is canonically impossible. Soulless homicidal flowers need some closure as well!
> 
> Flowey has become the family's houseplant in this fic, and hardly anyone but Frisk trusts him. Few escape his ire, especially not Sans. Sans gives as good as he gets though. Sometime even worse.

Another uneventful week. No different from the last ones spent in freedom.

For a long time, the possibility of escaping their confines was dismissed as impossible by most monsters. Humans had won the war, and would preserve their victory for centuries to come.

Then, one fateful day, Frisk stumbled into the underground. A plain, quiet and small child who turned every monster's life upside down. They didn't make a strong first impression, but were brimming with determination. So much that the barrier between the surface and the underground could once and for all be destroyed.

The prophecy had finally come true.

Settling into human society proved to be challenging, but the monsters worked hard to overcome their setbacks. Toriel was accepted into the gradeschool teacher programme, close to fulfilling her life-long dream. Sponsors discovered Mettaton's studio-friendly personality in no time at all, making him the first robotic anchorman. Record ratings soon landed him his own talent show.

Papyrus, despite his endless confidence, had trouble finding suitable work. Police academies took one look at the skeleton then instantly dismissed him, and becoming a chef was more demanding than Papyrus could have imagined. His brother wasn't doing any better. Sans' resume looked questionable to say the least. The brothers also suspected that their appearances affected their luck. Lots of human cultures equated skeletons with horror and disasters, a universal symbol of death. Browsing the internet only gave rise to new questions. Something about an 'uncanny valley' and a 'skeleton war'. Sans and Papyrus approached Frisk for answers about this fabled war, but their explanations weren't comprehensible enough.

Despite hardships, everyone was trying to find happiness and a sense of belonging in this strange world.

Oh, how Flowey _loathed_ it.

Perched on a small cupboard in the kitchen, the plant ground his teeth in boredom.

While his ability to save and reset was gone, along with imitating faces, he still retained some of his powers. When Frisk decided to plant Flowey outside in the backyard during summer, he realised that he could still burrow under the soil and tunnel around. His attempts to escape were either foiled by Sans or from miscalculating and trying to burst through pavement, alerting pedestrians with his agonised shouts.

He was stuck inside the house while the remaining residents studied or worked dayshifts. No employers would hire a plant, and he'd been banned from school after shooting friendliness pellets at foul-mouthed brats who needed to learn their place. 

He wasn't doing it for Frisk, no matter what Toriel said. Flowey couldn't care less if some bullies in Frisk's class targeted them. The brats were just nuisances, that's why! 

Grumbling at the memory, Flowey extended his vines across the kitchen to search for snacks in the pantry.

Thankfully they weren't so useless as to leave him without something to eat. Frisk had insisted on buying sweets, suggesting they might reward Flowey whenever he behaved nicely. Toriel felt sceptical about feeding a flower artificial food, but nevertheless gave in. After a grocery trip and a lot of spat out candies, Flowey eventually settled for gummyworms.

Flowey had no intention of keeping his promise to avoid candy unless rewarded. Frisk must be reaching new levels of idiocy if they genuinely thought he was obedient.

Managing to pull open the counter, he latched onto the bag of gummyworms and brought it over to his cupboard. Fishing around for a piece, he opened his maw and popped one gummyworm inside.

A despicable flavor assaulted his mouth, making his stem wilt.

Flowey coughed and sputtered, spitting out the vile candy. They never tasted like this! Was someone trying to poison him?

A slip of paper stuck to the bottom caught Flowey's attention. He brought the bag closer for inspection, squinting at the messily scribbled words.

 

 **_A pinch of salt to match that salty attitude of yours. Bone appetit._ **  
**_-Sans_**

 

Furious, Flowey tore the bag to pieces, gummyworms scattering in every direction as his cursing echoed against the walls.

"I'll kill that smiley trashbag!" Who adds salt to perfectly fine candy? And more horrible puns!

Since moving up to the surface, Sans had dedicated most of his free time to making Flowey his primary joke victim. Whenever Toriel or Frisk would turn their backs on them, the two were at each other’s throats.

This was the last straw. From now on, the fat skeleton would get more than his just desserts. Screw house rules against fighting, an eye for an eye always worked!

The door to the hallway creaked open, laughter spilling inside.

_Speak of the devil..._

Sans always came to pick up Toriel after work was finished. In no time at all, the two had grown affectionate. It was already evident from the looks they gave each other before he'd interrupted their little pow-wow, what with Toriel's hurt feelings and disappointment in Asgore. The old man lived on his own for the time being.

Toriel and Sans had appointed themselves custodians of this household after moving to the surface. Well, Toriel appointed Sans despite his obvious reluctance.

An idea suddenly hit Flowey. Face twisting into a malicious grin, he let multiple roots grow long as they twisted down the cupboard and slithered past the kitchen entrance, forming a single thick vine. Grasping the leg of a chair, his vine was drawn taut above the floor.

Just out of view so unsuspecting fools would trip.

Flowey waited while the voices grew close. From the sound and pattern of their feet, Sans was walking ahead of Toriel. A few seconds and the skeleton would fall for his trap.

A foot connected with his vine, the figure losing balance and stumbling forward with a loud gasp. They somehow looked taller than usual…

Horror flashed across Flowey’s face. Vines frantically reached for Toriel, coiling around her arms and waist to suspend the fall. But the woman was heavy, and this form lacked power…

Toriel’s body came to a halt just above the floor, the pull of vines enough that she could catch herself on her hands and knees without injury.

“Oh… oh my… that was a close call", she said in a composed tone, shock still lingering in her red eyes.

All oxygen left Flowey in one deep sigh as he retracted his vines.

Toriel turned to look over her shoulder, gaze landing on Flowey. “I didn’t watch my steps. Thank you for reacting so fast, Flowey.”

He stared in silence before returning to his senses. “I-it was nothing mom- Toriel! I meant Toriel!”

Flowey felt a chill spread from his core. What an idiotic slip-up...

A light chuckle escaped her. “Mom? Frisk's been calling me that since we first met inside the ruins, you're welcome to call me 'mom' as well.”

“...Whatever.” His attempted nonchalance wasn't enough to cover the sudden outburst.

Flowey flinched as a large hand brushed his leaves.

“I really am grateful, my child. Caught off guard like that, I could’ve hurt myself.” Toriel smiled tenderly, voice warm with affection. “I'm glad that you’re starting to feel comfortable around us.”

Something foreign rushed through him. Embarassment? He hunched over to obscure his face, despite not being able to blush.

She pat him once more before standing up, much to Flowey's relief. As she was heading towards the living room he noticed Sans observing him quietly from across the kitchen, slouching against the fridge.

Bastard must've seen his trap from the hallway and teleported ahead. He felt one eye begin to twitch.

"Heh. Nice reflexes for a plant," said the skeleton, sauntering over to Flowey. "For future reference: Roots are a hell of a lot more conspicuous than transparent wire. I don't need eyeballs to have good vision."

Hissing, Flowey rose from his hunched pose, exuding hostility with Sans standing right in front of him. "Noted, trashbag."

Sans kept a relaxed posture. "Honestly, I didn't expect you to actually catch Tori. You're a lightweight. Maybe there's still a soul left in that weed you call a body?"

"Shut up! I was targeting you, not her!" His expression flickered, gazing off to the side before focusing on Sans.

"Besides... Toriel's the one who provides for us", Flowey said half-heartedly. "Don't want her ending up in the hospital or anything."

_Asriel would never forgive himself..._

Sans' perpetual grin grew wider. It only annoyed the flower. "Whatever you say, kid. At least she's fine."

Without warning, the short skeleton suddenly loomed over Flowey, pupils gone from his eyesockets. "But if she'd been hurt, I would hold you over the stove until your petals catch fire and watch you squirm."

Screw eye for an eye. Make that an eye for every last piece of bone and marrow in this trashbag.


End file.
